The Middle Man [A Broadway Romance]

by Gregory A Kompes

  "Dad, what do you want?" I asked again.

  "I don't want that woman living with me."

  "Okay," I said. I sat down in the chair next to his bed. I wanted to touch his arm or take his hand. I wanted to get a clear read from my team on what was going on. But, I stayed put and they remained silent. My father hated when I touched him. I think he was afraid that the gay might rub off on him.

  "I don't want to live with you, either. I know Lola brought that one up. You really don't have room and all those stairs, not really an option for me. Then there’s that fancy pants man. Don’t like him at all. Although, the doctor, nice guy by the way, the doctor said I should start walking more and work my way up to doing stairs again. Hell, without the subway, where would I be? Trapped."

  I attributed his wandering words to the medications dripping into his arm. "What do you want?"

  We were both silent.

  "I don't want to go to a nursing home," he finally said.

  "Okay. Knowing what you don't want gets us closer to what you do want."

  The nurse entered the room with a little tray. She acted as if I wasn't there. "Time for pills, Mr. Donovan," she said, approaching my dad. As he tossed them into his mouth and sipped water from the straw of a plastic cup, she kept talking. "Is this your son, Mr. Donovan? I can see the resemblance. He's the psychic one? The gay one?"

  "The only one," he said.

  I was shocked that he’d claimed me, the son he’d thrown out of the house at sixteen, as his only son. While Neil, his straight son, was ignored. I thought about correcting him, but didn’t, not wanting to ignite a fight that might kill the old man.

  "That's a good man,” said the nurse. “You done good taking all your medicine. What are you going to do without Miss Lilly?" The nurse turned to leave, her ass swinging gently behind to catch up with her movement.

  I stood and followed her out of the room. "Miss Lilly?" I asked softly.

  She turned with a lovely smile.

  "We're trying to figure out what my dad wants and needs to help his recovery. He doesn't seem interested in having his girlfriend be a big part of the mix and doesn’t want to move into my house. It seems that he wants to maintain some level of independence. I was hoping you might be able to offer me some suggestions."

  "Well, I understand about," she looked up and down the hall, "about Miss Lola. She's not the brightest bulb."

  I was surprised by her honesty.

  "My father lights up when you come into his room."

  "He's a sweet old codger. Reminds me of my own daddy, may he rest in peace."

  "Miss Lilly, would you be interested in taking on some private nursing?" It was her turn to light up.

  "That's my preferred line. I’m only here,” she gestured to take in the whole hospital, “as a temporary thing. You know, with the economy so bad, there hasn't been much work for me. All the old folks have either died or gone to homes out of the city."

  "I'll need to check this out with my dad, but if he's interested and you're interested I can make this work for you both."

  "I'm not cheap, Mr. Donovan." Her accent was thinner, her smile was gone now, but her eyes sparkled gold with flecks of green, like a tigress.

  "I've got plenty of cash. That's not a problem," I said with a wink. "But, you already knew that." It's difficult to tell when black people blush, but I think I'd caught her. I pulled a card out of my wallet. "Here's my number. Please call me after your shift and we'll work out the details." She nodded. I went back into my father's room.

  “So, what have you contrived for me?” Still, he didn’t look at me.

  “I’ve talked to your nurse. If we can settle on the details, she’ll come stay with you and take care of you in your apartment.”

  “The black broad?”

  Was that a smile returned to his face?

  “Miss Lilly,” I confirmed.

  “That could work.” He picked up the remote control and changed the channel to a sports program.

  “Okay, Dad. I’m going to go.”

  “Hmph,” he snorted.

  Again I wanted to touch him, to kiss his cheek, to shake his hand. I’d longed most of my life for a softer relationship, for some recognition or acknowledgement from him that he’d been wrong to force me onto the streets as a kid. I didn’t expect an Ozzy and Harriet experience, or even a Dan Connor moment. Mine certainly wasn’t some TV sitcom dad. But, something, even a “Thank you,” would have been a start.

  As I walked out to the waiting car that would take me back to the safety and security of my home, I saw my surgeon friend entering the hospital. “Thank you,” I offered with the shake of my hand.

  “Don’t mention it, Duke,” he said. “Glad I could help your father.”

  We stood awkwardly for a moment, blocking the doorway.

  “I’ve got to run.” Dr. Sandy released my grip on him. He smiled with his steel grey eyes and turned away from me.

  I felt terribly alone on my walk to the car. After instructing the driver to take me home, I lit a cigarette and watched the city pass by. There must be something more. I thought to myself. I received no response.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I rarely think of the murders. The advice I offer to some results in the deaths of others. Sometimes, the deaths of thousands, tens of thousands. I can't use the word innocent. None of us are. It's an irrelevant term really. The deeper I get with my team, the more I come to understand the laws of the universe, I know that these circumstances, these taken lives, merely match up with the takers. Law of Attraction and alignment and all that. The information shared by me with my clients rarely alters outcomes. For the most part, I find that I spend my time reinforcing and fine tuning, if you will, the actions already set in motion, the lives already set in motion.

  And, after all, I've killed another. It was only one life. It was a him or me situation. I wasn't ready to go yet. I obviously wanted life more than he did. I was younger with a lot to look forward to.

  But, what's the point in spending time thinking about this, that's the old story. It's been told. It's done, forever set in the universal vibrations.

  Sam and I lounged late. It was Monday. His day off. Our day together. Sleeping late is among my favorite things. I also love hot showers. I will forego just about anything for a long sleep followed by a long shower. Throw in breakfast in bed after a fabulous fuck, now that's perfection.

  "Duke?" Sam whispered with his arms wrapped tight around me.

  "Hmm?

  We'd been quiet for a bit, I think I'd dozed off.

  "I love you," he said, his words licking my ear.

  "I love you, too, Sam," I mumbled. He liked when I said his name, especially right after sex. He didn't care about it during sex, but he liked to be acknowledged.

  I went through a phase like that, too. When you turn tricks, it's common for names to be exchanged quickly and forgotten just as fast. It always felt to me, and obviously to Sam, too, that a name used, after you'd been into someone else's most private places, if not their most private thoughts, a name after the deed was more important, special somehow.

  "I can't believe all that's happening. It's all coming so fast. Everything I want, everything I ask for, it's come to me." He hugged me even tighter. "Lickity split." He kissed my chest.

  "That's how life is supposed to work. You want something, you ask for it, you get it." I ran my fingers through his curly hair, his locks damp from our lovemaking.

  "You make it all sound so simple. It hasn't been for me. Everything, up until lately, everything I wanted took forever to come. I wished it and willed it and I did get there, but it…"

  "What? But it what?"

  Sam released his grip, rolled a bit, propped himself up on his elbow. The morning sun, diffused by the sheer curtains, offered backlighting to his dynamic and handsome features. "Duke, all of this, my life, has gone into overdrive, into warp speed since I met you. Are you pulling some strings?"

  I thought for a moment
. "Of course not." I looked into his wonderful dark eyes. "I've had nothing to do with your career. Well, I did push the bartender on you, but that was really about him."

  "And you. You've got a little crush on Harry Boy."

  "Yes, I do. I'd love to fuck him. He offered, you know."

  "I didn't know," Sam smiled. "When?" His hand gently caressed my chest.

  "The night of the party. He offered a three way with you, him, and me."

  "You didn't tell me about that." Sam's gaze wandered off. His fingers absently rotated around one of my nipples.

  "Well, that was just before his career took off. You all were rather involved after that.” We were silent for a moment, both lost in our own thoughts. “He showed up here the morning after the party, to thank me. He brought me a gift. A crystal ball of all things. He kissed me."

  "I hope you kissed him back. He's cute as shit."

  "Jealous?"

  "No. Old men should have young boys want them," Sam said, poking me gently in the side. "You should sleep with him."

  "What?" I tried to act shocked, but I don't think it worked.

  "You know I occasionally suck a dick at the gym. You should get off with the boy. It won't change anything between us." His words were permissive, but the tone he used for them didn't match.

  "Thanks for the permission slip." I patted him on the head. "You're a very nice boy."

  "I mean it. You want to get off with the cute boy, you should. We're both adults." There was a hint of anger in his voice.

  "I don't think one roll in the hay would be enough for our Harry. He's a…"

  "What? He's a what?" Sam prodded, back to being playful. His hand moved to circle the other nipple.

  "I think he's into relationships. Never had one, but wants one. He sees what you have, or what he thinks you have, and he wants that for himself. He offered a three way, in hopes of appeasing me, but his motives go deeper."

  "Do you know this, Duke? Or is this just you fantasizing; filling in the blanks?"

  "A little of both. My team warned me against it as soon as Harry made the offer. I even checked to see if it was them or me. It was them. They didn't like the idea."

  "How do they feel about me?" Sam looked me in the eyes, suddenly serious.

  "Do you really want to know?" I asked, playfully.

  "Yes," he said, looking away for the briefest of moments in an attempt to hide the look of fear that swept through his eyes.

  "They've told me you're going to start to get famous. You're going to get caught up in it all. You're going to meet a nice man, more handsome and flattering than me. You're going to go off with him."

  "I would never! I love you, Duke." He rolled nearer to me, wrapped his arms tight around me. "I really love you, Duke. It's not about my career, or the changes in my life. I like being with you. You make me feel…"

  "I love you too, Sam," I said, helping fill the silence.

  "Really, Duke. I wouldn't."

  "Never say never, Sam." I pulled him to me. He looked hurt, like I'd slapped him. "We make our future; it's not set in stone." I caressed his arms, now wrapped even tighter around me, making it difficult to breath.

  "What can I do to prove to you that I'm not going anywhere?"

  "Proof isn't required. We just need to live our lives and enjoy them as much as possible. Whatever is coming later will come. It's better to live in the moment than worry about the future, or the past. We—" my thoughts were disrupted by violent pounding on the front door.

  "What the fuck?" Sam said, jumping out of bed and heading for the bedroom door.

  I followed. "Sam." He stopped and turned. "No need to give them a show." I grabbed lightly at his partially erect dick.

  We quickly robed as Malcolm confronted the door banger below. There was shouting. It was Lola; I'd know that shrill voice anywhere. I couldn't make out the words until I arrived in the foyer.

  "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Lola screeched. She lunged for me. Malcolm held her back for the moment. Lola's great girth would soon topple them both.

  "I'll play your silly game," I said. "I'm Duke Donovan, who the fuck are you?"

  For a moment, everything stopped, her shouting, the commotion. Malcolm took the opportunity to shore up his position. He looked old. It was the first time I'd ever really thought about Malcolm's age, really saw it. He looked old, pale, fragile.

  "Lola, what is your problem? Have you noticed how often you storm into my home? This is really unacceptable." I tightened my robe around me. "If there's a problem, why don't we have dear Malcolm bring us some coffee and we'll sit and talk about it like rational, well behaved adults."

  "How you talk to people," Lola seethed. "Like we're all children."

  "Act like a child and you're treated like one. A woman of your age, of your considerable age, should know better than to—"

  That did it, she lunged for me again. Malcolm did his best to hold her back, but Lola stretched out her hands and pushed forward on her spiked heels. Poor Malcolm simply didn't have a chance.

  Sam stepped in between Lola and me. He attempted to grab hold of her too, only to be bowled over, the four of us landing in a heap, with me at the bottom. This result was followed by a deafening amount of screaming and a painful collection of elbows and knees which all seemed directed at my body. That's when I felt the crunching and pops.

  "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" With the adrenaline fueled strength of someone lifting a car off a wounded child, I shoved them all off of me.

  Time stopped. The three of them were scattered around me on the floor. A flutter of arms, legs, hands, and feet erupted as everyone looked from one to another and attempted to right themselves. If I hadn’t been in so much pain, the view of Lola, like a turned-upside-down turtle with her four appendages waving in the air would have caused me to laugh.

  "I need to get dressed. I need to go to the hospital." They looked at me, my robe open, my lumpy, bruised flesh exposed to the world. I couldn't move. I knew my arm was broken, my leg, which was turned in an odd direction, too. There was a sharp pain in my chest.

  Like a shot, Sam was up the stairs and down again with sweatpants and shirt. These he tossed to Malcolm who helped me begin the process of moving broken limbs into pants legs. Sam returned with a handful of keys and money. He dropped these on the round table, shoved out of place, up the hall, in the scuffle. The beautiful Ming vase shattered on the floor. Again he was gone, returning with slippers and a cell phone. He speed dialed the car service.

  Lola remained motionless, sprawled on the floor, still on her back.

  "Fuck, stop! That hurts." I moaned as both Malcolm and Sam attempted to get the robe off. "Leave it. Leave it. "You, bitch, get out of my house. You're never to set foot here again. If you do I'll—fuck. This is bad." I pointed to my ankle, already swollen to double its size.

  The car pulled up out front and honked.

  "Okay, Lola, move your fat ass." She didn't move. "NOW!" She was gone. I've never seen a fat lady move so fast and would have enjoyed the moment more if the pain weren't excruciating. "Malcolm, Sam, you're both going to have to go with me. I can't walk."

  “Should we call an ambulance, Sir?”

  “No. The car is already here. Let’s just get this done,” I said, immediately regretting my decision once the two of them had me up on my feet, well, foot.

  They helped me to the car. Malcolm rushed back to lock the door and got into the front passenger seat. Emma May Johnson, the neighbor from across the street waived, oblivious to what was going on as we pulled away. I was confused, she looked not like a solid, in the flesh person, but more like the apparition I’d been seeing lately. Was she real? Was she a ghost? I thought again of the tour I’d given her of the first floor of my home. Did it really happen? Could I have given that tour to... The pain overtook my thoughts.

  "Malcolm, call ahead to St. Vincent's. Find Dr. Sandy. Let him know it's me and I'm coming in."

  I rested my head against the back of the seat
. The pain was unbearable.

  “It won’t be long now.”

  I turned toward the voice, expecting to see Sam’s concerned eyes. But, it wasn’t him. It was my ghost tormentor smiling at me, his own eyes glowing yellow, like a cat’s in a dark room.

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s okay,” cooed Sam.

  I literally saw stars. They were followed by absolute blackness. That's the last I remember.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "What are you doing here?" A man, not tall like a basketball player, but tall like a skyscraper, not solid like a building, but fluid, like the northern lights, asked the question.

  "Who are you?" I asked, taking in my surroundings. It was different than any place I'd ever been. Flashes of light flew past me at unbelievable speeds. Not really dark, not actually light, the place, the space, just was. Sorry, I can't describe it any better than that.

  "What do you think you're doing here? It's not your time. This isn't your place to be. You're supposed to be down there." He pointed a very long finger, attached to an extremely long fluid arm, a great distance toward another me in a hospital bed. Despite the seeming great distance, I could see myself clearly hooked up to tubes and machines in a stark beige room.

  "What's going on?" I asked, freaked out by the reality that I was in two different places at one time.

  "It's not your time," he said again.

  "Who are you?"

  "I'm," he paused. "Don't you know me?" His question was direct, his tone without any hurt or shock. As he asked, I felt like I did know him, but I couldn't put his face and figure with a name. "Unbelievable, really, after all these years together."

  I did know the voice. "James? Really? It's you?" I was flummoxed. "I'm with you? This means I'm no longer physical?"

  "Of course you're still physical. Look." Again he pointed that long finger, that long arm, to the other me down in the hospital bed.

  "But, how?"

  "I don't know exactly. I mean, you're always here, always connected to this place of pure energy. But, most physical beings aren't aware of the duality of their lives. It's not practical. It fucks them up actually. They tend to go off the deep end. Isn't that how you humans say it. They tend to go around the bed."